This is What We Do, Every Time
by 332249
Summary: Sequel to "Find Your Way To It, Every Time" set two years later. Dean Winchester in back in Kennewick, hoping to borrow the big mechanic's tools in Mercy's garage to overhaul his Baby and enjoy some down time. Neither Mercy and her family nor Dean and his family are expecting trouble. But since when does trouble happen when anyone is expecting it?
1. Sunday

**A/N:** Supernatural bits take place after season 11 finale, so spoilers!, but ignoring Mary's presence until season 12 airs. Mercy Thompson bits take place after  Night Broken.

 **A/N 2:** Minor references to other fanfics I've written, mostly for ease of plot points. IE: Sam and Dean's criminal records have been erased by Chuck as a thank you (Asking Questions, a Closer crossover). Dean received a boatload of compatible parts to repair the Impala as a bribe or a buttering up (An Offer of Services, a Blacklist crossover). I'd love it if you bothered to read either of these, but you don't have to in order to keep up with this one.

 **A/N 3:** Some suspension of continuity this time. Knowledge of the Fae and Wolves and the existence of CNTRP agency is fairly new, but it's existence is classified from the general public. That's the only way I could think of to mesh both worlds.

 **That is What We Do, Every Time.**

 **Sunday**

Pastor Oscar Ruiz looked over lawn outside of his church with a smile. Alma chatted happily with the ladies from the congregation and the guests of the picnic, helping make the two groups happy and comfortable with each other. His wife had an amazing talent for relaxing people. Every year that the church family put on this outreach, a few more people from the community joined them. This 'let your hair down' approach (as Alma liked to call it) did wonders.

Two years ago, after a terrible night of coming face to face with a demon and monsters, Oscar nearly abandoned Kennewick. It had changed him, shaken him, to see such evil so close. Shaken him more than he cared to admit. Dean had warned him that there was a drastic difference between believing and knowing, but didn't stay around long enough to ease the pastor into the changes or teach him the tricks for dealing. In the end, after much prayer and soul-searching (and a good talking to from his wife) he made the decision to stay in the area.

Soon after that same night, Adam Hauptman began to do some soul-searching of his own. Being saved from demons and hell had rekindled some of his own long buried faith in a Higher Power. Faith he thought he had lost years ago creaked out of hiding. Faith that he had buried in mud and blood in the war in Vietnam. Between the love and support of a certain coyote and the frank discussion with a trained pastor, something had begun to change in Adam as well. It was slow going. Decades of distrust and disbelief in God weren't something thrown away overnight. But he felt lighter than he had in years.

Now, the two men stood beside each other and watched as Wolves mingled with the Flock. And wasn't that a sign of the power of God, they didn't know what was.

Adam's ears heard the rumble of a big car engine pull up, idle, then turn off. He didn't think much of it. It was a community event parking lot, after all. The breeze brought him the scent of two humans, neither of whom he recognized, so he dismissed it as nonthreatening.

Not until Pastor Oscar turned to greet the new comers and gasp did the Alpha turn.

Dean held a finger to his lips, motioning the two not to say anything. His companion, a slightly younger and slightly taller man, stopped by Adam when Dean motioned him back.

Moving with astonishing grace and stealth for such a heavy bodied man, Dean snuck up behind Mercy and covered her eyes from behind. "Guess who?" he demanded, deepening his voice out of his normal range.

Mercy whirled in surprise and almost nailed him in the face with a shisei kai kan elbow.

Laughing, Dean dodged the blow and swerved back to give her some room to recognize him.

"Dean Winchester!" Mercy cried, a huge smile on her face. "What are you doing here?"

"Alma made pie," he told her with a completely serious face. "Where else am I going to get some of Alma's pie?"

Pastor Ruiz let loose a belly laugh. "Yes, the perfect bait for a Dean trap, Alma's pie. You should warn us you are coming so she can make enough for you and the rest of our community."

Mercy stepped back to take in her former employee. He had the same style clothes, the same hair cut. Two years didn't age the face much, except to further crease the fine lines around his eyes. The biggest change was the eyes, not the color, but the soul behind them.

Elizaveta once said that behind his eyes was a mess of rage and open wounds and violence. There was still the potential for violence, living with Wolves helped her recognize the violence in someone's nature. But now it was less at the forefront, still dominate and dangerous but now more easily controlled. The wounds had begun to heal and the simmering rage had cooled. He seemed lighter, now.

It was almost as if a Wolf had been Changed back into a man, the difference was so great.

"I didn't know if we'd wrap up the case in time to make it out here," Dean admitted to Oscar. "I try not to make promises I can't keep."

"Well, we're glad you came!" Oscar clapped the younger man on the back. "If you're staying long, you should come by for dinner and dessert."

"You smell different," Mercy blurted, her nose finally catching up with her mouth. That must have been how he managed to sneak up on her; how she didn't scent him coming. Because of that soap of his, he always smelled a little off. But a little off was _his_ scent, she could pick it out of a crowd if she had to.

Dean shrugged. "I'm not hiding. Went back to axe endurance body wash."

Mercy breathed deep, taking in his real smell: sweat and leather, gun oil and engine oil. And human male underneath all of it. "What about the creepy ungrateful ass you were avoiding?"

A predator's smile split the handsome face. "I'm not hiding," he repeated.

Behind them, the taller young man quirked his eyebrows. "This is where you disappeared to? Washington state?"

"Sammy." Dean waved the man over. "This is Mercy, her husband Adam, and Oscar, pastor of the church here. Everyone, this is my brother Sam." Dean gestured around to everyone. "And yeah, Washington. Mercy owns a mechanic's shop, I spent most of the time working for her fixing cars."

Oscar laughed. "Yes, I suppose you spent _most_ of your time fixing cars!"

The Hauptmans chuckled like the pastor just told a great joke.

"What am I missing here?" Sam asked, glancing between everybody.

Adam threw a surprised glance at Dean. "You didn't tell him?"

Dean shrugged. "It didn't come up."

"What didn't come up?" Sam demanded, becoming worried.

"Um," Dean shifted uncomfortably, trying to find the right words. He'd known as soon as he suggested this little detour to town and to Alma's pie that he would have to tell his brother something. "Well, for starters, Mercy here used to have a demon problem. She exorcised it the first time around. But the second time, it kidnapped her and most of her friends while I was here, including Oscar. Kinda pissed me off, y'know?"

Not reassured, Sam asked, "Pissed you off?"

"Yep," Mercy agreed. "My half-brother got away and told him where we were. Then your brother walks through a coven of witches, Wolves, vampires and fae to kill the demon off for good."

"He saved us all," Adam added.

"He does that." Sam smiled at his brother.

"Then for an encore, the demon's partner dragged the three of us to hell." Mercy gestured between herself, her husband, and her former employee.

"What?!" Sam cried, grabbing his brother's arm. "You went back to hell?"

"Sammy, it was fine." Dean gently pulled free. "Black-eyed bitch didn't know who I was and I ganked her ass, too."

"It's not fine! You were in hell! Again!" Sam snarled.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Drama Queen." He shook his head. "It was different this time. No chains, no torture. Just lots of ducking and running. We slipped out the back door to Purgatory and then the escape hatch to earth. It took all of a week. No big deal."

Mercy and Adam exchanged a Look. 'No big deal'? Both of them still had nightmares about those months. Sure, neither of them were tortured, but still... It was Hell. Neither of them could even pretend to be so blasé about a return trip. Yet, as Bran said, this was a Winchester.

Though, now that she thought about it, hell was almost good for him. Dean was a man who needed a purpose, a goal. Being able to focus his energies on keeping them alive and getting out did wonders for him. Like a lot of Alphas she knew, he needed to be needed.

"You sure?" Sam looked to his brother, eyes demanding an honest answer.

Dean groaned. "Alright, I got a little twitchy from being back in Alastair's old workshop. Okay? Had a few nightmare's after, but nightmares are nothing new. I didn't crawl into a bottle and afterwards, I came home. So, yeah, I'm fine. Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam's reply was instantaneous.

Mercy got the feeling those last two words had been passed back and forth between the brothers many, many times. She could almost read the subtext underneath them: a manly version of affection and brotherly love.

"Glad we cleared that up," Dean grumbled. "Now can I have my pie?"

"Of course. After pie, why don't you and your brother come over to the house for dinner? Give us all a chance to catch up with the last two years," Adam invited. "We have and open door policy for any member of the Pack on Sundays for food and game nights. There will be plenty for two more."

"Daryl's cooking," Mercy added encouragingly. "Remember sniffing at my left overs? Those were Daryl's recipes."

"Pack?" Sam repeated, looking to his brother for explanation.

Dean ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. "Oh, yeah. Adam's a werewolf. The werewolf in charge around here, actually. Mercy's a shifter, a coyote."

The Hauptmans suddenly remembered that this man wasn't Dean Sharp, lonely auto mechanic who happened to know his way around the Basement. This was Sam and Dean 'Freaking' Winchester, Olympic level Hunters. In between saving the world from utter destruction and oblivion, they hunt down and kill monsters. Including Wolves and shifters of all types. And vampires, fae and witches. Probably Tibecenas as well. In short, everything Mercy called friend or family.

A cold little frission of fear ran down her spine. If Sam was half as good as what she saw from his brother... If Sam decided they were Hunters first and foremost...

"Like Garth's pack?" Sam didn't sound particularly worried about the revelation. In fact, he seemed pretty chill about it.

"More or less," Dean agreed. "Didn't catch it until the whole demon thing went down, but had plenty of time in the Basement to hash details out. They police their own. Its cherry."

Much to Mercy's relief, Sam accepted Dean's judgment.

"So, ah, thanks for the invite Adam, but maybe we can catch up without the whole Pack around," Dean suggested.

Adam stayed quiet a moment, measuring his former guide through Hell. "You aren't going to be very comfortable around my Wolves, are you?"

Dean grimaced then tried to explain. "When my dad was alive, I wouldn't have thought twice about killing any one of you. Because you exist. Even after meeting you and liking you, if I found out your were something else, I would put you down. He taught us to hate anything not human." The Hunter lay a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Sammy over here got it in his head that if it wasn't dropping bodies, then we don't need to worry about it. It took some getting used to, but I'm more or less on board with Sam these days. My closest friends lately haven't been human. But uh... small doses, okay? Avoid misunderstandings."

Understandable, really, Mercy thought. One could almost look at it as a form of racism. A reformed member of the KKK would struggle with being near an African American. Even when his head had decided he would break the cycle, the rest of him would wrestle with his upbringing.

"Meanwhile, my car needs a serious overhaul. We worked a Hunt and the guy said 'thank you' in hard to find car parts. Well, less 'thank you' and more 'I want you to trust me so I can screw you over later,' but that's not the point. The point is that there's a few computerized gadgets I don't have at home. I was thinking maybe I could borrow some tools while I was in town?"

Mercy smirked, "You think maybe I could get some free labor out of you while I have to trip over you in my garage?"


	2. Sunday Night

**Sunday Night**

"You seriously spent two whole months here, just being a mechanic. The whole time me and Cas were tearing around trying to find you, you were here. As a mechanic." Sam didn't sound upset, wasn't blaming Dean for anything. It sounded like he was trying to wrap his head around the idea but needed more data to make the idea compute.

Dean glanced at his brother as he parked, trying to pick up on his mood. "Well yeah. I couldn't Hunt. Not by myself with that Mark on my arm. I couldn't trust myself. So. I found a garage that would hire me for cash under the table. Working on engines is practically therapy for me. It was...nice."

"You miss it? Just being a mechanic?" Sam asked, curious and a little pensive about asking.

Dean surprised him by admitting, "A little. Sometimes. You know, if I had never heard of monsters or Hunting, I'd probably be running my own body shop. A lot like Mercy's, really: low prices, fun projects, good people for customers." He stared off in the distance for a moment before shaking himself out of it. "But that was never in the cards. And most of the time? I'm good with that. No regrets, okay?"

Sam nodded. They both occasionally wished that their lives had been different, but that didn't stop either of them from enjoying the life they _did_ have. Changing the subject, he said, "So, is there something special about this bar? Or did you just really need a beer?"

"This is the unofficial cop bar of Kennewick PD. I ah..." Dean looked a little sheepish as he cleared his throat. "I wasn't Hunting, but I might have done some consulting with a couple of local detectives whenever our kind of thing popped up in town."

"Consulting?" Sam repeated.

"Yeah, you know, told them what to look for and how to kill it."

Sam was fighting a smile. If Dean was still checking out crime scenes while working his grease monkey therapy, at least he didn't have to wonder if his brother actually wanted in or out of the Hunting life. That made it pretty obvious he'd miss it if he ever had to quit. Aloud he said, "You? You were the reference desk for all things supernatural?"

"More like a Cliff's Notes Pocket Guide," Dean countered as he unbuckled and got out.

Sam followed him in. The interior was the same as a thousand other drinking establishments his brother had dragged him to through the years; dim lighting, polished wood bar, a scattering of tables, and a couple of pool tables in the back. He was willing to bet there'd be a dart board somewhere. It was the clientele that made the place feel different. Dean usually picked biker bars and roadhouses where everyone inside favored flannel or leather.

Here was a mass of the cheap suits, professional dress code on a budget.

Although there was probably the same number of guns in both kinds of places.

"Hey, hey, Papi!" Dean called, a big smile on his face. "You sure you're old enough to drink?"

A latino man jerked his head around in surprise, but grinned when he saw Dean. To Sam's eye, the man didn't look that young. He wondered what the inside joke was.

"Sharp!" The man laughed as he hugged his old friend. "Save my life a few times, then disappear on me for two years? Not even a phone call? My Sylvia is beginning to believe you were a guardian angel and not a real person."

"Wow. No one has ever accused him of being an angel before," Sam laughed.

"Tony, my brother Sam. Sam, detective Tony Montenegro," Dean made introductions and hearty handshakes were exchanged. "She's _your_ Sylvia now, is she?" Dean demanded with a wicked glint in his eye. "Does that mean you finally stopped dicking around and made your move?"

Tony blushed slightly and for a moment looked like a shy teenager being teased by an older brother.

A little, unworthy part of Sam got jealous. Ruthlessly, he squelched that line of thought.

"Well, good on you!" Dean clapped him on the shoulder.

"Dean Sharp," a new man joined the group.

"Clay," Dean greeted with a handshake.

"You back?" Clay wanted to know.

"Visiting. Showing my little brother here all the wonderful sights to see on the Tri-Cities area." Dean gestured around the bar.

Clay jerked his head, indicating that the three men should join him at a table. Once they were seated and had beer in front of them, the older detective got down to business. "Now, I'm not complaining, but that was one hell of a mess you left us in that warehouse two years ago. Our department, Internal Affairs, even a few feds were crawling all over the place. All of them know the guy who skipped town knows what happened and all of them want to talk to you about it."

Dean sighed. "See Sammy? This is why we don't crap in the same crapper twice. Its messy."

"Learn to flush," Clay advised without a trace of humor.

"I did suggest you people torch the place down to nothing but ashes," Dean reminded. "There wasn't that much worth saving after all the explosions."

"Explosions?" Sam cut in. "Dean, what did you blow up this time?"

"Oh, get off my back, Sammy!" Dean whined. "Its not like I was screwing around with Caleb's nitro and napalm again! I'm not twelve anymore. It was the judicious application of home made plastique for distraction purposes only. The was no integral structural damage to the building."

Tony gaped. "It was missing parts of three walls and had a hole in the roof."

After a beat, Dean grumbled, "It was abandoned anyway."

"Did I really just hear that you were playing with nitroglycerin and napalm when your were twelve?" Clay demanded. One would think that after all they had seen Dean do, they wouldn't be surprised anymore.

"Blow up one rental's kitchenette and your brother never lets you live it down." Dean shook his head at the unfairness of it all. "Oh well. You were saying?"

"There were twenty-four bodies on the ground, Papi." Tony reminded him. "The feds saw decapitations and thirteen women dead with no apparent medical causes."

"We kept telling everyone the same thing, we got hit over the head and kidnapped." Clay added. "Then we were inside an exploding building. We were concussed and shocky and don't remember much. No one was happy to hear that. Especially our bosses and those feds."

"Okay, okay, I got it, I will keep my head down," Dean groused. "Can we please enjoy out beers now?"

"You're not worried? At all?" Clay demanded. He was a cop through and through, dammit. People should show all law enforcement officers the proper respect. Even really annoying federal agents who stuck their noses into other jurisdictions.

"Dude, we're not gonna be in town that long. Besides, how would they even know we're back? C'mon man. I just wanna shoot the breeze, talk a little shop, and trade some stories. Y'know, relax a bit. That's why people come to places like this."

"Talk shop? I thought you were a drifter and occasional mechanic?" Clay challenged.

Dean smirked. "Less Kung Fu: The Legend Continues mechanic, more private investigator."

"Except for the part where we don't get paid," Sam added helpfully.

"Hey, Bella coughed up a few grand for saving her ass," Dean reminded. "And Reddington threw a stupid amount of money at us for curing that hot-chick of his. Its not always pro-bono."

Sam snorted. "We've been doing the job how long? In the past ten years we have been paid twice. And both of them were crooks."

Dean turned back to the detectives. "Oh yeah. Zero pay, crappy hours, no benefits. People are lining up for this job."

Finally, Clay Willis cracked a smile. "So getting paid in steak sandwiches and beer was actually a high point for you?"


	3. Monday

**Monday**

Mercy wasn't sure what she expected when she realized that Dean would be around the garage on Monday morning. Two years ago, when he was in her shop, he was just a guy. A little bit of a mystery, but ultimately just another human gear head in need of work. As an assistant mechanic, he did what he was told and always deferred to her (even the one time she was wrong and he was right.) Dean Sharp never lost sight of who owned the garage and who was in charge.

When they all landed in hell, he stopped being Dean Sharp. He suddenly became Dean 'freaking' Winchester again. Winchester had been in command of himself and his allies while moving them all through the stages of their journey without hesitations or doubt. That Dean was terrifying to behold and a relief to have at your back.

She had no idea which Dean would be tinkering around her garage today.

"I'm telling you, Dude, no freaking way."

Mercy walked back into the garage part of her business after waving goodbye to the happy customer just in time to hear Dean's pronouncement. The pronouncement worried her, actually. She had introduced Dean Winchester to Seibold Adelbertsmiter this morning. Zee had been in the mood to tinker with boringly human concerns lately (or, more likely, he wanted a break from Fairyland concerns) and had been hanging around the garage helping her out.

Dean had walked in and done a double-take at the sight of the old fae already underneath an engine. Then shrugged and called dibs on bay three.

Zee had taken one look at the Hunter and started getting territorial about his ex-garage and his current friend. Apparently, saving his life once only bought you so much leeway in the shop.

Mercy had began to worry right about there. In his day, Zee was a force to be reckoned with. Not quite a Gray Lord, but near enough. He'd mellowed in recent years, sure, but he was never one to be taken lightly. Like Dean seemed to be doing. Still, this was Dean Winchester. A human, sure but... darn. Mercy wasn't sure she wanted to see that fight, there'd be no guessing who would win.

She was also suddenly glad they decided on Monday night dinner and football game just the family. Some of the Pack were bound to be uncomfortable around a pair of Hunters and any fight that broke out could level her house. She really, really didn't want to see either Winchester throw down with friends of hers.

Whether she wanted to see it or not, it looked like one was about to kick off in her garage. Mercy pushed those worries down and channeled a little bit of her mother into her voice. "Children, do I have to separate you two?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

"Your freaking fairy wants to tear the engine apart looking for crap that won't be there!" Dean complained, completely undaunted by Mercy's impersonation of her mother.

Zee spat some old german too fast for Mercy to even pretend that she understood. "I have been working cars for longer than you have been alive! _Voll der Depp_!"

 _What a dumbass,_ Mercy mentally translated the modern german. Apparently, Zee wanted her to understand that one.

"Well, then, you seriously suck at your job," Dean retorted. "I grew up in the back of a Chevy. And I am telling you, that rattle has nothing to do with the engine. Its all in the computer."

Ah, now Mercy understood. This wasn't a death match between an fae old with power and a Hunter. This was a heated disagreement between mechanics about problem diagnosis. That, she could deal with. "Zee, why don't you plug it into the computer and check. Whoever's wrong is buying lunch. Okay?"

Still grumbling in german, the old gremlin hauled the diagnostic computer over. While they waited for the results, he had a question to ask. "Why did I startle you?"

"Eh?" Dean asked, only half paying attention. His focus was on his phone, trying to find an expensive place to order lunch from. After all, he wasn't going to loose this bet.

"When you walked in this morning, I startled you. Why?"

"Its not every day I see a guy with metallic-gold hair, pointed ears, and that kind of brown skin," Dean told him. "Took me a moment to remember you from the warehouse. I had other things on my mind at the time."

Zee went still, the motionlessness of a predator who heard something he shouldn't have. Mercy's eyes went wide as she realized why. Dean didn't describe Zee's glamour. Dean had described Zee's true form, its all of his fae glory. Except, Zee hadn't dropped his glamour around the human. Ever. He'd kept it up through the entire demonic kidnapping debacle.

"How-?" Mercy squeaked, then cleared her voice. "You can see through Zee's glamour?"

"What's a glamour?" Dean asked. But his answer was interrupted by the diagnostic computer's beeping. Everyone glanced down at the screen. Dean smirked. "Told ya."

But Zee wasn't paying attention to the screen anymore. Instead, he stared at Dean like he was trying to sort out a puzzle. Deliberately, the old man raised a hand towards the younger man's face.

"Dude, not for nothing, I know I am a very attractive man, but I don't actually swing that way." Dean quipped, but he didn't pull away. Perhaps sensing this was important, he allowed the contact.

Zee ran a very delicate finger across Dean's eyelid before bringing his fingers under his nose. "A first-born son. You are a first-born son."

"Yeah. Oh, is this about that whole alien abduction thing?" Dean blurted.

Mercy coughed in surprise. "Alien abduction?"

"Pfft." Dean waved away the whole notion. "I got scooped up by some fairy using bright lights in a cornfield, very _Taken_. It dragged me off to some weird ass time pocket dimension or whatever."

"Yeah, I've been trapped in one of those. Zee had to come save me," Mercy admitted.

"After you saved young Gabriel and the others, _Leibling_ ," Zee reminded. "There was much mutual saving that day. But if this _Waschlappen_ served and was released, his Sight should have been wiped from him."

"Okay, one, I don't know what you called me, but I did not appreciate that." Dean's glower had as little effect on the fae as her mother impersonation had on him.

 _Dishrag,_ Mercy mentally translated.

"Two, I don't do the whole servant thing, ever. And three, I wasn't released as much as I got thrown back. Apparently, when you hit the ground in fairyland screaming and a'cussing, shooting iron bullets and stabbing away with a silver blade, they don't want to keep you."

At that, Zee started laughing loud and long. "What _Lutscher_ tried to reel a fully armed Hunter into his net? Who among my kin would be so foolish? You weren't thrown back on purpose, _Waschlappen_. The iron broke the doorway, most likely shattered the whole working." To Mercy, he added, "That is why I could help you like I did. Introducing iron into the edges of a fairy realm weakens it. I did it on purpose, but only enough to keep the door from closing and time from leaking. It would have been unpardonably rude to destroy her place of power."

"Naturally," Mercy groused.

"Tell me, _Waschlappen_ , did you kill the fae who tried to enslave you?"

"Sam did," Dean answered, still looking suspicious of his new nickname. "Some leprechaun or something. I was busy trashing a Redcap."

"Redcap," Zee mused. "Are you sure the...leprechaun was truly the lord of the keep?"

"Sammy ganked him then all the little minions vanished," Dean offered. "Usually a good sign."

"Hmm," Zee grunted. "I suppose I must now buy lunch."


	4. Monday Evening

**Monday Evening**

Clay Willis wasn't used to seeing things like this.

Sure, he'd been a cop for over twenty years and had seen a lot in his day: abusive domesticity, gangland executions, hostage situations, dead druggies in a pool of their own vomit. Long time cops see a lot of the worst parts of humanity as they are called on to deal with such situations. He'd been there to find the panorama of dead bodies left in the field as a challenge to the friendly predators who live in his towns and the collateral damage of one witch at the wine tasting.

None of that, no amount of dealing with bodies at crime scenes quite prepares a man for when a dainty little twenty something girl wearing a formal gown and sneakers strolls into the mall and starts killing people. This wasn't a Colombine-style school shooting or a terrorist attack. Those he could almost understand. Those would have pre-printed procedures in the police department's handbook. Gown-and-Sneakers literally ripped limbs from people's bodies and lapped at the arterial spray like a water fountain. While giggling.

This was supernatural and very much out of Clay's league.

When asked later by internal affairs, Detective Willis could say exactly why he thought of Dean Sharp in that moment: the warehouse two years ago. He remembered (had nightmares about) that night, about the human man who walked through everything to rescue them. Sunday night, in a cop bar trading stories, that same man gave him a phone number saying the department was welcome to call on him if they needed to.

Detective Willis made the call.

In the ten minutes it took for Sam and Dean to make it to the mall from the hotel, police concentrated on evacuating whoever they could. Their car, a glossy black thing of beauty, screeched to a halt outside the ring of police cars. The brothers vaulted the barricades, each with a gun in one hand and a machete in the other. The eldest nodded to Clay on the way through but didn't slow down enough to say anything.

It took ten minutes. The brothers walked back out; Dean carrying an unconscious woman and Sam supporting a wounded man. Paramedics rushed in to relieve both of their burdens.

At Clay's questioning look, Dean nodded. "Ding, dong, the bitch is dead."

"Someone should salt and burn the body, to be sure she stays that way," Sam added.

"We didn't think you boys in blue would appreciate the indoor bonfire. But if you want we can take both pieces of her outta here and handle it," Dean offered.

Clay nodded slowly, "Maybe that would be for the best." Then he watched as Dean grabbed a duffle bag from his trunk and vanished back into the mall. When he reappeared again, the duffle was heavy, slung over one shoulder, and dripping something. The detective fought his own gag reflex.

Sam lay a tarp open in the trunk and Dean deposited his burden there.

"Hunters." The soft voice caught the brothers' attention. Stephan stood a respectful distance from their machete reach. "How much damage did she do?"

"Several dead, at least five, maybe more." Sam fumed, recognizing him as a vampire. Only Dean's subtle shake of his head kept Sam from attacking him then and there. "It was hard to tell with pieces scattered everywhere."

Stephan bowed his head in apology. "I am sorry I was so slow. Her name was Lilly, she was already mentally ill when her maker turned her. The change did not improve her health. The local seethe took it upon themselves to keep her from causing extraneous harm. I only now found out Lilly escaped from her keepers moments ago. Her Mistress was... embarrassed and waited too long before contacting me. But she could not allow senseless death so close to home."

"Her Mistress?" Sam demanded. "There's a vamp nest here?"

The dangerous tone in the taller brother's voice sent chills down Willis' back. Or maybe it was the blood spatter across his face and jacket that Clay hadn't noticed before.

Stephan's jaw tightened and his nostrils flared. "Once we were friends, her Mistress and I. She has ruled our kind here for a long time."

"Not anymore," Sam declared furiously. "Not after this!"

Mentally, Willis cheered the young man on. He liked what he heard from Dean's brother.

"I should warn you, she has one who would avenge her. The Master of Milan. The oldest among our kind," Stephan cautioned. "I doubt even you would stand long-"

"Bald, black dude? About yea high?" Dean demonstrated with a hand. Dumbfounded, the vampire nodded. "Yeah, he already hates us. Dunno why. I mean, we saved his creepy ungrateful ass from Dick Roman."

"Our grandfather did capture and torture him, Dean" Sam couldn't help but remind his brother.

"Pfft," Dean waved the point away. "Grandpa Samuel betrayed us to be captured and killed. Its not like we had a whole lotta say in what that sonnuva bitch did or did not do."

"Then we killed his mother."

"Okay, fair enough," Dean admitted. "Thanks for the heads up, Stevie, but I think we're good. Mercy likes you, so I'm guessing you're not much of a killer. But." He held up a cautioning finger. "Get in our way, and that won't save you. This," he jerked his head at the spectacle of flashing lights around the mall. "... will not happen again."

Wisely, Stephan left.

Sam looked at Clay Willis, who had been a silent witness to everything. "Detective, I need to do some research to find the vampires' nest. Do you think I could get access to your department's database? It would make things go a lot faster."

Slowly, Clay nodded. "Any chance you'll let me look over your shoulder? Teach me what I'm looking for in case weird like this happens again?"


	5. Tuesday

**A/N. Special thanks to Ethereal Fantasy for being a wonderful soundboard!**

 **Tuesday**

Mercy should have enjoyed a quiet morning mostly to herself. The day hadn't gotten too warm yet, it was just cool enough to be perfect for a morning run. Being an Alpha's mate meant that she didn't get to go running by herself anymore. Especially now that Bran had Sundered the Colombia Basin Pack. Sometimes she regretted the necessity of never being alone, but she could never bring herself to regret the decisions that brought her to this place in life. A few minor annoyances were well worth her family and her place in the world.

And she actually enjoyed setting a pace that made her Wolf bodyguard pant. They might be bigger and stronger, but human or coyote form, Mercy would always be faster.

Today, however, the shoe was on the other foot.

Sam Winchester had asked over dinner if there was any good running paths around. So Mercy invited him to follow her on her morning run, giving her a chance to get to know Dean's brother. Dean himself would not be coming, having mocked his brother about how disgusting and smelly getting sweaty was. Not to be left completely out, though, he'd offered to chauffeur the pair. Sam, clearly used to his brother's contrariness, happily accepted the arrangement.

As a bonus, Adam declared either Winchester an acceptable guard/companion. This allowed Ben a chance to sleep in and Mercy an escape from Ben's steady stream of barely discernible string of swearing and curses.

Half a mile in, she discovered that while she may have lighting fast reflexes and maneuverability, Sam Winchester has a frustratingly long stride, plenty of endurance and a lot of pent up energy from too much time in the car. He was eating up the miles. For once, she was the one panting and pushing herself to keep up. Being a gentleman, he'd offered to lighten the pace but she'd stupidly refused. Now she'd feel in tomorrow. It just wasn't fair that a man with suck long, gangling limbs should move with such fluidity and grace.

Dean, his Impala, and a cooler full of bottled water waited for them at the trail head. "Towel off before you two get that sweaty funk permanently ingrained in my seats," he commanded.

Sam tossed Mercy a towel but rolled his eyes at his brother. "Right, because sweat is the worst body fluid this car has been through. Tell me, how many women have you had sex with in the back seat?"

"Not the point, Sammy," Dean sniffed, but the far away, lecherous look on his face told them both where his mind was.

Mercy glanced at the back seat and wondered if she should start sitting on a towel.

"How many times have you, me or Dad bleed in this car?" Sam shook his head, "And you're whining about a little sweat?"

"Not to mention you peeing all over the back seat during potty training. And mom's water broke in the passenger seat on the way to the hospital with you," Dean supplied more detail. "Doesn't mean we should keep adding to the problem."

Sam seemed taken aback. "She did?"

Dean smiled and patted the hood of his car. "How did you think Mom got to the hospital?" He glanced at Mercy. "Stop looking at my Baby like that, Boss-Lady," he scolded. "I've cleaned ever inch of her inside and out. You're fine."

Once at the shop, Mercy and Sam took turns cleaning up in the washroom, Mercy first. While Dean got to work, Sam waved good-bye and headed out on foot. He'd seen an internet cafe and coffee shop not too far away, and after that he said he'd start exploring. Neither brother seemed worried about him being alone in a strange city without transportation and hours to kill, so Mercy decided not to worry either. Sam was an adult; he had a map, cellphone and more than one weapon on his person. He'd be fine.

True to his word, whenever a problem came up Dean stopped what he was doing on his Impala and gave Mercy a hand. Hours passed in companionable silence, broken only by requests for help or locating tools. Occasionally, a car enthusiast came through to compliment Dean on the condition of his '67 Chevy. When this happened, Dean practically glowed and preened at the attention. It warmed her heart to him so happy and...whole.

Around lunch, Sam wandered back in bearing take out for the three of them. Dean must have told him what and where, because he had her favorite tacos from her favorite taco stand. Accepting the bag, she noticed the credit card receipt read "E. James Almos." At her puzzled look, Dean grinned unrepentantly. Mercy decided not to ask.

Sam left again after eating with them saying he'd call to let them know where to pick him up.

Before she knew it, it was closing time and the last customer of the day came and went. She buttoned up her Jetta. Dean said he'd be done in five more minutes and rolled back underneath until only his feet were visible.

Three minutes later, the door to her garage creaked open and the musky smells of strange Wolves wafted under her nose. Indulging a healthy dose of paranoia, Mercy hefted a big wrench and set her feet in a fight stance. Sure enough, four Wolves intruded on her territory. Three quickly surrounded her while the fourth moved to cover the human who was still on his back under the car.

The alarm panel was well out of reach, so Mercy mentally felt for her mating bond. Hopefully today would be one of the days when it would be working well enough for Adam to know she needed him. She knew the Wolves could smell her fear, but she'd be damned before she'd back down from another predator on _her_ turf. "Let me guess, this is the old 'control the mate and or daughter as leverage against the target Alpha' ploy," Mercy shook her head in mock disappointment. "Do you have a death wish? Don't you know what happened everyone else who tried that old schtick? Here's a hint: none of them are around to tell you about it."

The Wolf in charge, a man of solid build and black hair, didn't look impressed. "We kill you and your friend. Your mate goes insane, looses control and Bran has to put him down. The Colombia Basin Pack gets a new Alpha who won't endanger the rest of the Packs. How's that for a whole new 'schtick'?"

"What?!" Dean cried indignantly as he rolled out from under the Impala and leaped to his feet. "What'd I do?"

"You're just more proof that Hauptman can't protect his own," the fourth Wolf informed him.

"Wait, I'm collateral damage for dramatic effect?" Dean considered the idea for a moment, thoughtful look on his face. "I'm unimportant. Wow. Nobody's called me that in a long time."

Mercy could smell Dean, could smell his adrenaline. She could hear his heart rate pick up and his breath coming faster. Normally, these would all be signs of fear and the Wolves probably thought that's what they were smelling. She wasn't so sure; this was Dean Winchester. Extreme sportsman go through the same physical effects when they jump off a building or out of a plane, but they don't call the sensations fear. The call it the ultimate rush.

So Mercy was the only one not surprised when Dean _moved_.

A silver knife flashed through the air and buried itself in the leader's throat; he went down gurgling on his own blood. Dean's second silver knife (this one modeled on a marine corps k-bar) rammed through the fourth Wolf's breastbone and into his heart before the other two even understood what was happening.

Half a second after Dean made his move, Mercy threw herself at the downed leader to yank the throwing knife free. It wasn't her ideal weapon for close quarters combat, but the silver blade was a far better choice than her steel wrench. She feinted left, slashing with the small blade. The Wolf dodged backwards easily. Right onto Dean's waiting k-bar. The heavier blade sliced through spinal cord and heart in one smooth thrust.

The last Wolf standing decided to cut his losses and tried to make a break for the door. He made it ten feet before the combat knife flew straight and true across the room and lodged itself in thigh bone. Howls of pain erupted from his throat as his leg collapsed under his weight.

"You didn't kill him." Mercy realized she'd never seen Dean leave survivors before.

Relaxed now, Dean scooped up the dropped wrench and silenced the howls with a quick blow to the temple. Unconscious. "Nah, sounded like you might wanna ask a few questions. See who sent them, what they want, yadda, yadda, yadda. Do I really look that harmless? I mean, I thought I gave off a pretty strong 'bad-ass' vibe. But they were all ignoring the token human."

It took Mercy a moment to realize he'd changed subjects without even a breath in between. "What?" she asked stupidly, tearing her attention away from the bodies and back to her friend.

"I said, do I really look harmless?" Dean repeated, sounding petulant.

"No. You don't." Mercy assured him. "Wolves really aren't used to thinking of humans as dangerous is all."

"Couldn't they smell the silver? I thought they could scent stuff like that?"

"Only if they are paying attention." A new thought struck. "Do you always carry two silver knives on you?"

"Sure, one to have and one to throw. Got an iron one, too." Dean shrugged. "I don't go anywhere without something sharp within reach, otherwise I feel naked."

"Not even to sleep?" Mercy couldn't imagine never feeling safe enough to sleep unarmed.

"Sweetheart, I once took a rifle blast to the chest in my own bed," Dean explained. "So, no. Not even to sleep. Anyway, you better call Adam and get some minions down here to lock up this sucker and clean up the bodies. I'm guessing he'll want to drive you home?"


	6. Tuesday Night

**Tuesday Night**

A handful of Wolves lounged around the Hauptman residence mini theater watching a home movie. Not of little Jesse Hauptman taking her first steps, not of Adam Hauptman's second wedding. No, the Wolves watched security footage from Mercy Thompson's garage. They were actually putting together quite the collection of snuff films and fight club scenes from those security tapes between all the attacks on one little coyote.

For tonight's viewing pleasure: Dean Winchester in action. Larger than life and in slow motion the Pack watched the human save Mercy's life again. Compared to her struggle with the volcano god, this one was almost anti-climatic. No elaborate martial arts styles, no flashy movements. The most interesting part was that Dean palmed the throwing knife before he even stood up, holding it by his knuckles so he could show empty palms. A basic hold of a stage magician.

"Throw. Draw. Stab. Withdraw. Stab. Withdraw. Throw," Adam recited. "No hesitations and no wasted motions."

"No emotions, Boss," Warren pointed out. "Scary focused."

"No enjoyment of the kill, either," Daryl rumbled. "Professional."

"The guy's fu- freaking terrifying." Ben remembered barely in time to curb his swearing. Everyone knew their Alpha did not approve of swearing, especially in front of women, and no one wanted to be the one he was displeased with right now.

Adam was in a foul mood after his mate had been threatened. His Wolf wanted violence. The Wolf didn't care that it had been handled before he was even sure something was wrong; didn't care that their mate's companion was a worthy ally. The human side of him knew he'd have to get a grip on that impulse and his temper before he lost his senses and murdered the moron in the basement cage.

The rogue maintained he was a just that: a rogue. His three friends and him had never been declared a Pack in the Marrok's territory. When asked why they attacked, he said he wasn't sure but he thought maybe his alpha had been paid to.

"He's a friend," Mercy reminded her Pack. Unbidden, Dean's words came back to her. _I wouldn't have thought twice...Because you exist. Even after meeting you...I would put you down. Dad taught us to hate..._. "Dean's a friend!" she repeated, partly to herself, emphasizing the last word.

"Yeah, well Darling," Warren drawled, cowboy accent given free reign, "Most of your friends can be downright terrifying. Its damned lucky they all like you."

Not even Adam complained about the swear word. It was appropriate.

.o0o.

Meanwhile, across town, the subjects of the Wolves' discussion sat in the parsonage of a local church. Dean worked his way through his second pie as Sam sipped at his after dinner coffee. Sam had polished off his single slice and been satisfied.

Alma watched Dean eat. A baker's satisfaction came partly from the act of baking and partly from watching the satisfaction on those who ate the baking. The almost orgasmic noise Dean made with each bite brought the baker enormous satisfaction.

Oscar walked back into the dining room, having rinsed the dinner dishes. "You are looking better these days, Dean. Relaxed," the pastor commented as he sat down.

"Yes," Alma agreed. "Two years ago you looked like walking death warmed over. Always haggard and tired. We can't tell you how glad we are that things changed for you."

Fully expecting some kind of joke or mocking, Oscar continued, "We have been praying for you since you left."

Surprising the entire table, Dean didn't laugh and his small smile was not the least bit mocking. "Thanks, Padre. You should know, me and God? We're on speaking terms again."

Oscar laughed out loud, a sound full of joy. "! _Gloria a Dios!_ I almost wish I could have heard the first prayer to have passed your lips."

Dean chuckled. "It went something like: Stop this, you hear me, you dick?"

At that, Alma giggled. "Not very respectful, Dean."

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "It got his attention." Then he noticed the odd look on Sam's face. "You got something to say, Sammy?"

"No, its... Its just that you sound like you found your faith again. Even after everything, I didn't expect that." Sam told him, comfortable saying these things in front of strangers because his brother was so comfortable with them.

Surprising the table again, Dean shook his head in disagreement. "Not faith, Sammy. Certainty. I told you, man. I believe in what I can see, with my own two eyes. I don't _believe_ Chuck is looking out for us. I _know_ Chuck is looking out for us. Big difference between believing and knowing."

"Chuck?" Oscar asked.

"Our name for God," Dean explained. "Don't ask. Long story."

Sam put down his coffee mug. "It sounds like you all had some pretty intense discussions last time." And once again, he felt the tiniest little surge of jealousy. This was his brother, why was it so hard for him to talk to Sam?

Oscar, being the trained pastor/counselor that he was, heard those undertones. "I have found, in my profession, people often find it easier to talk to strangers about some things. Non-judgmental is known to be in the job description. Often, it helps to have a complete stranger's point of view. To sort out the confusion in a man's thinking before he can express it at home."

Dean nodded. "Don't be jealous, Sammy. I told you guys that I needed to clear my head. That's why I left. As soon as I did, I came back."

"And didn't talk to us again for two years," Oscar scolded. "I hope we rate a hello a little more often after this."

Alma favored Dean with an evil smile. "If I don't hear from you at least every other month, _mijo_ , you will not get another slice of pie from me again. Ever."

Everybody cracked up at Dean's stricken look.


	7. Wednesday

**Wednesday**

"Cas, Mercy. Mercy, Cas." Dean introduced his friend without taking his eyes off of the car in front of him. "Dude, someone did a number on your Pimpmobile."

It was true. The '78 Lincoln Continental needed a lot of body work. Something (or someone) had punched holes through the hood and roof. Possibly the same something that caused the U-shaped dent in the front grill; as though this Cas rammed someone sturdy enough to crawl up the hood after being hit. Mercy wouldn't be surprised to hear a human-sized hand caused the buckling along the door frame.

"Indeed. It would appear Tabbriel does not," he paused before finishing, "respect a man's ride," as though english was not his first language and he wasn't sure if he was using the correct phrase.

"Guess not," Dean agreed, running a hand over the fender. "I take it the God Squad is still being pissy about the whole Lucifer out of the cage thing, huh?"

Breath, Mercy reminded herself, the name Lucifer does not have to be what it sounds like.

The lines deepened on Cas' face. "Yes. I am afraid my heavenly brothers and sisters are not nearly as forgiving as my human brothers." At the words 'my human brothers' Dean looked up from his inspections and positively beamed. The difference was amazing between his usual cocky grin and the open, honest joy of that smile.

"So, you're the third Winchester? The oldest brother?" Mercy asked. Going on physical appearance, Cas looked to be at least five years older than Dean.

"Me and Sammy kinda adopted him," Dean explained. To Cas he added, "You can call yourself Castiel Winchester if you want, man. It's not like any _more_ things will want to kill you because of us." A pleased smile graced the older man's face, blue eyes shining. "But I'm still the big brother."

Suddenly confused, Cas answered, "But... I am older than you by several millenia."

Dean snorted. "Five years ago you were practically a baby in a trench-coat. You even called me your role model." The 'so there' went unspoken.

"Several _millenia_?!" Mercy didn't miss the important revelation. "He's not... You're not human? But you smell completely human."

"Nah, Cas is an angel. In fact, he's the only angel that's not a complete dick."

"Technically speaking, I am a Fallen angel," Cas corrected.

"Fallen-?!" Mercy squeaked. "So...Lucifer?" Not a joke? Her mind recoiled from the thought. Unconsciously, she reached for her lamb necklace and gripped the metal tight.  
"Yeah, he's a major dick," Dean agreed, but she barely heard him through the shock.

Gently, Castiel captured her free hand and her attention. "Mercedes Athena Thompson-Hauptman. Do not be afraid. I did not rebel with Lucifer against God our Father. I rebelled nearly ten years ago against the archangels who had strayed from Our Father's purpose and sought to end this world. I rebelled to side with humanity, with Dean and Sam. You are a good soul and your faith is pure. You have nothing to fear from me."

Mercy stared up at the impossibly blue eyes and didn't ask how this being could True-Name her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Ease up on the angel mojo crap, Della Reese. Its her first time being touched." Dean teased his brother, irreverent of his angelic status. Familiarity will do that. Or maybe it was just being a Winchester.

"Della Reese is a middle-aged African American actress." Cas cocked his head in thought. "One of her more well known television characters was an angel on the show 'Touched by an Angel.' Is this why you have called me by her name? That was humor."

"Angels don't have a sense of humor?" Mercy wondered out loud. She couldn't decide how to take the information. Honestly, she'd never really thought about what angels were like, beyond unknowable. Well, here was her chance to find out.

"We do." Cas informed her. "Its just that none of our jokes translate well from their original enochian."

Dean chuckled. "No, they don't. Part of its probably Cas' delivery, though. Gabriel was fricken' hilarious when he wanted to be. Even Metatron had a good one-liner or two."

"Both of them spent the majority of their existence interacting with humans," Cas explained to Mercy. "Neither of them are considered particularly entertaining in heaven."

"Oh" was all Mercy could think to say. It was clear that this was one of those 'closest friends' of Dean's that wasn't human. But when he had said that a few days ago, angel was not the species she had immediately thought of. She didn't know what she _had_ been thinking though. She believed in angels, of course. But meeting one in person defied all her expectations. Once again, she remembered Dean's words to Pastor Ruiz about the difference between believing and knowing.

Mercy Thompson wasn't sure she wanted to _know_ much more.

"Hey Boss-Lady, do you think your Metallica Fairy would do his wax-on/wax-off routine for these holes? I'd pay him for his time, but he'd make it go a lot faster."

Dean had been in the shop when Stephan brought his van in with bullet holes in the paneling. Mercy carefully did not ask about the dried blood flecks in the back. Her original estimate included a lot of labor hours and large metal patches. Zee had harrumphed at the expense before using his Mettalzauber abilities to mend the holes and mold the metal flat. Stephan paid Zee instead of thanking him and took the van to the artist who did the original paint job for touch-ups.

"He might," Mercy agreed cautiously. "We can ask whenever he feels like coming in."

"Awesome. I'm going to check prices on a couple things. Be back in a few."

He left, leaving Mercy alone with an angel. An _angel of the Lord!_ Tongue-tied was not Mercy's usual state of being, she wasn't used to it and she didn't know how to fix. "So, uh, why does Dean think all angels are dicks?"

"Would you like the most recent example?" Cas queried. When she nodded, he continued. "About a year ago I was infected with a curse that caused me to desire to kill whatever I saw. I prayed to heaven for help. At best, they could cure me. Most likely, they would imprison me. Possibly, they would smite me. I... could not argue that I did not deserve the latter two of those options." His gravelly voice was so matter of fact about everything, it was impossible not to believe him. "Instead, they chose to torture and interrogate me for answers I did not have."

"That's awful," she whispered.

"When I escaped, I went to the Winchesters for help. They sheltered me; gave me words of encouragement. Soon after, they captured the witch who cursed me and forced her to lift her spell. Both of them were offended on my behalf for heaven's treatment of me."

Not long after this revelation, Sam swung by to see if Cas wanted to hang out with him while Dean worked. The two left with plans to go do more research on the vampires' holdings. The younger brother sounded like he was getting close.

Before going back to her own project, Mercy shook her head. "A hunter, asking a shifter, if a fae will repair a car for an angel like he did for a vampire. Only in America."

Dean laughed.


	8. Wednesday Evening

**Wednesday Evening**

There must be something magical about Mercy Thompson's closing time. Over the years, closing time was that special witching hour when humans and monsters decided she was at her most vulnerable. She assumed it was the mix of deepening twilight and lack of customers. A state of the art security system hadn't really changed her opponents' timing. After the Wolf attack last night, she'd promised her over-protective husband to start keeping the remote panic button within reach.

Dean had also promised her over-protective husband that he'd keep his gun on him from now on. When she expressed her concerns about mechanic-ing with a loaded firearm, Dean promised he'd wear the one with a safety and leave the pipe empty. Which meant that normally, he carried an overloaded gun, without a safety, but with live ammo stuffed down the back on his pants. He was confident and comfortable that way.

Sure, Mercy knew how to handle a gun, but she couldn't imagine living with one on her person like Dean did. She wanted to call him paranoid, except for what happened next.

The power cut out and the drastically dimmer back-up lights flicked on. Before her eyes could adjust, windows shattered and she heard the tink of several metal somethings hitting the concrete floor. Dean bellowed "Grenade!" even as the canister exploded in a magnesium bright flash of light with an ear-punching bang. Another canister popped and eye-watering smoke billowed, filling her garage and burning her nose. Effectively blind and ears ringing, she almost didn't realize when men in black riot gear stormed her shop.

One of the men grabbed her elbow. Out of sheer muscle memory born of hours and hours in the dojo, Mercy whirled on her attacker. Shisei kai kan was designed for tackling multiple opponents. Granted, she never practiced in a darkened room full of gas and smoke. The lapse would have to be corrected later. For now, she concentrated on defending herself from what she could find.

A quick kick to the knee downed the man on her elbow. The man behind him lost all air in his lungs when he elbow spasmed the diaphragm muscles. Neither man would be downed for long, but she didn't need long. Mercy got her bearings and raced for the smaller back door. Coyote fast, she vaulted another man then dropped into a forward roll under the legs on the man in her doorway. On the way up, she set a backwards spin kick into the small of the man's spine sending him sprawling into the gas and confusion on the interior.

Dimly, she heard someone announce "Civilian clear!" as she raced into the clean air.

In front of her little garage, several black SUVs and a few more police cars sat with their lights flashing in the twilight. A few lengths beyond that, an ambulance sat waiting to see if it would be needed. It wasn't until she saw the ambulance that she realized this wasn't another assassination or kidnapping attempt. No, this was a state approved police action.

A local officer in a Kennewick PD uniform (sadly, not an officer she knew) rushed to her side. "Ma'am, its alright. Lets get you away from here, the EMTs can give you some oxygen to help clear up your breathing." A fight with police wasn't one she could ultimately win by fang and claw. That fight would be won or lost later with lawyers. So she allowed the earnest officer to help her to fresher air.

Behind her she could make out shouting. Much later, when reviewing he security footage in the mini theater again, she finally found out what happened inside.

There was shouts of 'federal agents' and 'on the ground, now' and 'hands where we can them' but with how badly his ears would have been ringing from the flashbags, Dean probably never heard them. Because of the gas canisters, he didn't go for his gun. He couldn't see what he'd be aiming for through the clouds of smoke and tear gas. The first federal agent in riot gear tried to grab him and force him to his knees; Dean whirled with a roar and put all of his weight behind a heavy fist.

If they hadn't been invading her territory, Mercy would have felt sorry for the man.

When the first agent went down hard, several more tackled Dean at once. Their combined body mass pressing down on him from behind their riot shields worked to pin the Hunter to the ground. Realizing his weak position, he stopped struggling and allowed himself to be shackled.

An experienced Hunter wouldn't waste energy on a lost cause, the Pack would realize as they reviewed the tapes. A true Hunter would be patient enough to bide his time for a more opportune moment. Ben would work the digitization until a clear close up of Dean's face resolved, showing a look of more disgruntlement than worry or concern. Clearly, Dean knew the drill.

Mercy's eyes and nose had barely cleared by the time they brought him out, chains clinking from his wrists, ankles and waist. It didn't escape her notice that the manacles were made out of woven sliver, iron, and steel wires: all-purpose supernatural restraints. Which meant the federal agents belonged to CNTRP and they had no idea who they had just arrested.

"Dean!" she called. The man turned to look at her. "Don't say anything! I'm calling your lawyer! We'll see you soon!"

"Call Sam and Cas for me, will you?" he called back. But she didn't get to answer before the shoved him in the back of a black SUV.


	9. Thursday Morning

**Thursday Morning**

Mercy, Adam and the lawyer Jenny Trevellyan sat in the waiting room. Castiel stood as still as a statue, not moving a single muscle. Sam paced and grumbled. Mrs. Trevellyan kept busy flipping through her newest client's file. She'd gotten the whole unedited version of the warhouse story from the Hauptmans, up until the mysterious rescuer had slipped away quietly into the night. No one knew exactly how the Trippers had known said rescuer was back in town.

Trevellyan assumed it was a local cop with aspirations for federal work narcing on him, but admitted that they would probably never know for certain.

Finally, Special Agent Dan Orton led them to an interrogation room where Dean sat. Several guards stood in the corner, as well as another unnamed agent. Their prisoner was still wearing every single link of chain he had been the night before and looked very disgruntled for having to sleep like that.

"Are the restraints really necessary?" Trevellyan demanded archly.

"Standard precautions," Orton responded with a satisfied smile.

"Dean! Are you okay?" Sam demanded heatedly, throwing a glare at the agent escort.

"My hand hurts." Dean whined and flexed the offending limb. His right hand was a mass of purple bruises and still swollen. "And no one will give me an ice pack and pain killers. Or whiskey."

Sam inspected the split knuckles, waving at Cas to hang back for a minute. Nobody wanted to give the agents ideas to look closer at the angel. Mercy wondered what the federal agency would do when presented with proof of heaven and hell. Would they try to convince angels to register like the fae? Wear ID's like the Wolves in canine form? Apply for work visas and green cards to operate inside the United States?

Adam gave her the most amused look. Their mating bond must be sharing all of her fun thoughts with him. Mentally, she shook herself out of her musings.

"What did you hit?" she asked aloud.

"My helmet. He gave me a concussion," Orton answered, gesturing.

The helmet sat on the steel table with an evidence tag. Spiderweb cracks spread out from a point of contact right in the center of the forehead. Looking more closely at the agent, everyone could see the beginnings of two black eyes. Mercy could easily see Adam hitting hard enough to crack the reinforced plastic, but he had the dense musculature of a Wolf. His hand would repair itself in minutes. Dean did not have either.

Trevellyan's face tightened and her voice went dangerous. "You have an injured prisoner and you haven't supplied medical attention?"

"Not until we know what we are dealing with so we know what kind of medical attention he needs," Orton answered smugly.

"His pansy ass minor concussion got pain killers," Dean muttered mutinously. "He's still got the bottle in his pocket."

"Minor?" Orton demanded. "You cracked my helmet. While I was wearing it!"

"Yeah, so it did its job and took the impact. Your head's fine," Dean retorted dismissively. "Will somebody please tell me what I was arrested for?"

"The warehouse incident two years ago," the lawyer answered. "What I don't understand, Agent Orton, is why you are holding a human for defending other humans from a supernatural threat. Not only is he outside your jurisdiction, but my understanding is that all the hostile supernatural species died on scene."

"I highly doubt he's human, Mrs. Trevellyan," Orton sneered.

"What?!" Dean cried. "You've got to be freaking kidding me!"

"No single human being could be effective against twenty-four supernatural creatures," Orton declared. "Therefore, whatever you are, its not human."

"Oh, give me a break! That's what this is about? That's why I spent all freaking night trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey?" Dean growled, "Do you even know how uncomfortable this chair is?"

Trevellyan fixed the young agent with her dreaded Grandmother Look. "Other than martial abilities, you have no other proof of non-human status? No reactions to silver or iron? Clearly, his healing abilities are limited." She gestured at his injured hand.

"I have twenty-four bodies," Orton reiterated. "Explain that."

"Dude, I am human. My ancestors have been decapitating vampires since the Mayflower." Dean quoted his late grandfather. "I've had a gun in my hand since I was six and ganked my first creepy crawly with my dad when I was nine. Hell, I had a confirmed kill sheet of monsters bigger than most active duty military personnel before I was a teenager. Its kinda the family business."

The silence after _that_ statement stretched for awhile.

Mercy looked to Sam, who nodded his agreement. Dean wasn't making that up. That was one hell of a childhood these two men must have had. No wonder he was so very comfortable with loaded weapons and sharp blades stashed all over his person.

Agent Orton looked to the unnamed agent who had been silent so far.

The man nodded slowly, "Truth."

"Agent?" Trevelyan demanded.

"This is Tyler Murphy. He's a psychic and a consultant for CNTRP. We had him fly in this morning." Orton introduced.

"Is that admissible?" Sam demanded.

"No," Orton admitted. "Murphy helps us focus our investigation."

"Well, focus it in another direction!" Dean griped.

"Yes, agents. Your own resources say my client is outside your jurisdiction." Trevellyan leveled a finger in Orton's face. "Release him."

At his superior's nod, one of the guards pulled out a key ring.

"Hang on," Dean started wriggling under the chains. "I wanna see if I can do this."

Sam's eyebrows drew together until he realized, "Grandpa Henry's trick?"

Dean wriggled a bit more making everything clank loudly. Suddenly, all the chains slipped off of him to land in a noisy pile on the floor. "Yatzee!" The former prisoner stood and stretched. Even the humans in the room could hear a few joints pop.

"You're still making too much noise," Sam critiqued. "You'll never sneak away like that."

"Eh, bite me," his brother grumbled, twisting his stretch the other way. "I ain't a freaking ninja. Chains make noise when you move them."

"You could do that this entire time?" One of the guards gaped.

"Sure. But then you people would probably shoot me or something long before I got out of the building. So what was the point?" Dean shook out his sore hand. "Hey Sweetheart, you're my lawyer, right? I didn't catch your name."

"Trevellyan, if you please. Not Sweetheart, Mr. Winchester." Now she turned her Grandmother Look on Dean.

"Mrs. Trevellyan," Dean corrected politely, withering ever so slightly under the weight of that Look. "How much do you think I could get from suing the hell out of these douche bags for wrongful imprisonment or something? You know, withholding medical care or smashing Mercy's windows. Or all three. I'm open to suggestions, but last night sucked."

The lawyer fixed the agents with her coldest stare and a shark's smile. "I will look into it, Mr. Winchester."

The group decamped from the federal building, the lawyer waved good-bye with a promise to the Hauptmans to go over their options with lawsuits. As soon as she was gone, Cas lay two fingers on Dean's forehead. Mercy watched with amazement as the injured hand and wrist deflated and the split knuckles closed up.

"Thanks, man. So, glad we cleared that up. I'm beat." Dean announced with a yawn. "I'm headed back to the hotel to crash for a few hours. See you at the shop after lunch, Boss-Lady."


	10. Thursday Afternoon

**Thursday Afternoon**

Mercy went to work. She would have loved to take a nap herself, but she had bills to pay. Well, not really, not anymore. Now that she was a married woman, money wasn't as pressingly important. Still, she enjoyed the work and prided herself on a business that was self-sustaining. Adam would give her all the money she needed if business came up a little short, but she had no intention of going there. Thankfully, Zee showed up again, so she would have help since she got a late start.

Without the potentially homicidal car owner around to worry about, Zee ran a hand over the Impala while muttering at it in old german.

"Please tell me you are not messing with his car," Mercy begged. "He gets _really_ touchy about that car, Zee. It's practically the fourth member of their family."

" _Ja, Leibling_ , this I can tell." Zee lifted his hand from the machine in question. With a satisfied expression on his face, he leaned back from the car. "There is a lot of love in this _auto_. Much more, and she will Become."

Mercy's ear twitched; she heard the capital letter on the word. "Become...what? What are you talking about? What does 'Become' mean here?"

"Mmm. You know of quenching. That we fae can create a weapon and make it greater by quenching it in the blood of a strong enemy." Zee looked at his protege to be sure she understood.

"Yes, that's kinda what happened with my walking stick, right?"

"Kind of," Zee smirked, "but as with everything to do with a trickster's daughter, the quenched spear did not behave as anyone would expect."

"Naturally," Mercy agreed. She still missed her walking stick.

"An object, _leblos_ , inanimate can be infused with a fae's life force, from creator and quencher and wielder. Can Become an item of power. Your walking stick, it was made to do one thing. It Became more, it Became a kind of alive."

Zee patted the Impala again. "This car...she is more than a trophy or a point of pride. She is loved a long time; she is treated like more than _leblos_."

"Fae artifacts ...Becoming... I can understand. Fae have power. Dean...I don't want to say Dean's only human, but he _is_ human. Can people do that?" Mercy wanted to know.

"Some, not many, but some humans have a power of their own. Older and deeper than they know. " Zee's face went contemplative and his attention drifted. "I wonder... Acts of power quicken a Becoming: births, deaths, conceptions of new life, marriages uniting two lives, moments of great pain, great joy, great triumph. These things are a human's medium of power."

Mercy remember the conversation concerning the bodily fluids. Sam nearly born in the front seat, sex in the back seat, brothers and fathers bleeding out on the way to the hospital. Did their parents conceive Dean in that same backseat as teenagers? Did one of them die in the front, even for a few minutes before resuscitation? She had no doubt that this car had seen more terrors and triumphs in its owner's lives than any other vehicle.

"Interesting times, _Leibling_ , I can wait and see what comes of this _auto_."

Mercy considered the classic car. "Any guesses on what it will Become?"

" _Nein._ That I could not tell. Not without adding some of my power to her." Zee amended. "That would not be forgiven so easily, I don't think."

"No, probably not," Mercy agreed.

He shook himself from his musings. "But, that is not why I am here. A fae I know, a friendly enemy, says she knows which Wolves attacked you and who held their leash. She does not like Wolves, thinks they are low creatures too much ruled by instinct. Bran has earned her respect, so she tolerates the rest because they know enough to put themselves under their Marrok.

"I cannot let her tell me. I would owe her on your behalf and that would tip the balance of hostilities between us. She will not tell Adam. He is no longer submissive to Bran and there is no respect established between her and your _Wulfen._ " Zee cocked an eyebrow to see if she understood where he was going.

"She might tell me. Zee, I'm not a Wolf but I am Pack." Mercy knew he understood that, but would the other fae, this friendly enemy, appreciate the distinction?

"You are the Trickster's almost-daughter. You returned his father's stick to Beauclaire and took it from him again. Now, it is forever beyond him." Zee chuckled. "Many of my people enjoyed hearing that. She said she will meet with you and decide for herself. I am allowed," he spat the word as though it tasted rotten on his tongue, "to tell you she will be at Uncle Mike's tonight. But only if I agreed not to accompany you."

"So, maybe get info. But no Wolf back-up. And you can't watch out for me, either." Mercy sighed. "Even if I was willing to go alone, Adam would never approve."

Zee grunted his acknowledgment of her dilemma. "Ask the _Waschlappen._ "

Mercy blinked her surprise at the suggestion. "A human? In Uncle Mike's? Is that wise?"

"He is human," Zee agreed with a wicked glint in eyes. The type of look he got when he knew someone was stupidly underestimating something. "But we have both seen that he is not _only_ human. Ask him not to kill too many. It is long past time my kind started respecting our neighbors."


	11. Thursday Night

**Thursday Night**

It was one of those things where Mercy wasn't sure how it happened. Yes, she'd been present the entire evening. No, she hadn't be mentally impaired by injury or alcohol. Still. Somehow things had gone from one slightly tense meeting between a coyote and a fae about a Wolf, into a train wreck between a Hunter and a Grey Lord.

Originally, the plan was simple. Mercy and Dean would go into a bar, have a few drinks with a lady, and negotiate for the price of her information. Mercy would do all the talking while Dean lurked behind her looking slightly menacing. Outside, Adam, Sam and Cas waited in the car to provide further backup as needed; that close, the mating bond would tell them when to come in. Mercy hadn't wanted to look like an invading army: too many bodyguards was a sign of weakness.

Before they walked in, Cas did two things. One, he insisted the brothers gift her with a shining silver stiletto. The same kind of blade that killed her personal demon two years ago. Apparently, it was an angel blade and Mercy was now the proud owner of an _angel_ blade. Sam assured her they had extras and she was welcome to keep it. Cas had assured her the celestial metal would burn even an iron-kissed fae.

Second, he wrote some kind of angel script in sharpie marker on Dean's back claiming the enochian spell work would make everyone around him not notice that he didn't belong. It was the weirdest thing. As long as she didn't think about it too closely, Dean felt like another coyote next to her. Cas informed them that he had something similar tattoo on his abdomen to help him escape angelic notice, but that drawing undue attention to his human status would override it.

"Sounds like a Pack magic Look-But-Don't-See spell," Adam had commented. The Wolves used that bit of magic a lot when living in cities.

So Mercy and Dean had gone into a bar to speak with Zee's old frenemy. The meeting went smooth, the troublesome Pack was outed, and Adam would handle it from there. The fae woman was surprisingly cheap: a forfeit of music on stage. The fae liked the idea of Zee's protege and Adam the Alpha's mate performing like a dancing monkey. She was less happy when Mercy was told to merely tap out a beat while Dean plucked power chords from a guitar. But the arrangement satisfied the wording of the agreement, so she could not complain.

"Anything specific we should perform?" Dean had asked.

"The song has to be mildly insulting, to show that we aren't scared of them, but not too over the top or they can take offense and try to kill us," Mercy has whispered back.

"Yeesh, tough crowd." Dean thought about it before a grin broke out on his face. "I got it," he had told her and began tapping his foot for her beat.

It was a song by the band "Clutch," about how, yes they were in a fight, a battle of wills; but no, he was not afraid, and if you really wanted a fight he would bring it.

" _Telekinetic, dynamite, Psychic warfare is real. You better believe me brother. X-ray vision!_ " He had sung. " _Last thing I remember, I was covered by the ruins, I don't know who's to blame for that but I know I didn't do it. With everyday that passes, it keeps on getting stranger, but that really doesn't bother me, cause I get off on the danger..."_

He had a surprisingly musical voice when he wanted. They would have to have a talk later about his singing so badly with the radio at the shop. The trickster in her told her why, to annoy her, but now that she knew better... Well, they would have words.

The song had been a good choice, especially when accompanied by the playful smirk he kept on his face the whole song. Uncle Mike had laughed loud and long along with most of his bar. Dean had grinned and taken his bows. They had been almost out the door, when Alastair Beauclaire filled the doorway and a hush fell over the room.

Alastiar Beauclaire had **presence**. Everyone in the room knew who he was: a power. Even the human on the room who had never seen him before knew this. Instinctively, the life-long Hunter stepped back a few paces to give himself more reaction time.

Maybe not so instinctive, Mercy realized. Dean could see through the glamor of the Grey Lord. One glimpse under the magic and the memory of his true face still made her shiver. She couldn't imagine standing straight and tall before the inhuman power and beauty like Dean was. There was a wariness in his stance, a respect for the danger in front of him. But there was also a warning; a demand for returned respect of _his_ abilities.

Beauclaire held up a jumble of string with weights of some kind tied to the ends. Looking closer, Mercy realized the weights were actually spent slugs. As she watched, each of them twitched slightly in Dean's direction. "Foolish, foolish, man, to come back to a place of fae power." The Grey Lord spoke softly, but everyone there heard every word.

Bar patrons cleared the floor to hug the walls, to not stand between those words and the source of his ire.

For his part, Dean merely cocked his head and asked, "Have we met?"

"Almost five years ago, a doorway to UnderHill collapsed. There are far too few to loose even one. I went to discover why. I found these." Beauclaire held the string and slug jumble for all to see. "Cold iron left behind in UnderHill, poisoning her."

Dean sighed. "I take it you blame me?"

"It is not easy to spell iron, to command it to reveal its secrets." The terrifying fae continued as though nothing had been asked. "It would not betray you to me until you were foolish enough to return to a fae stronghold. Only then, only now, are you discovered, mortal."

Calmly, the mortal in question responded. "Okay, you're pissed. I get it. If some asshat blew up my back door, I'd be pissed too. But you can't seriously blame me for that. _Your_ kind was kidnapping human kids. When I 'went to discover' why kids were going missing, _your_ kind tried to kidnap me too. You really gonna give me crap for protecting a bunch of kids? What kind of douchebag does that make you?"

All around her, various denizens drew a harsh breath. Mercy knew how cherished children were among fae, how hard it was for them to reproduce. Many there would laud the man's protectiveness of a stranger's child. No one quite knew what to think of a mortal who dared insult a Grey Lord.

"Insect!" Beauclaire hissed. "You will show proper deference to the one whose home had been damaged!" His voice dropped to even more dangerous levels. "To one who could cause storms and tidal wave and flood to destroy this city and all mankind who call it home."

Anger flashed in Dean's eye as the threat was thrown into his face. "You don't want to do that." Dean's voice deepened and roughened with his own rage. "Raphael, the archangel not the ninja turtle, threatened the eastern seaboard with a storm because I trapped him. He's dead now. Death, the Horseman, threatened to destroy Chicago by storm. He's dead now, too. _You_ do not want to threaten this city. You got a beef with me? We can dance. But you will leave innocent men, women and children out of it. So help me."

The growl in the Hunter's voice sent a new wave of shivers through the room. Every fae there knew he spoke nothing but truth. Mercy could almost see many of the lesser fae reclassify the 'mere human' into 'Power.'

"Who are you?" Beauclaire demanded. It looked like he was doing a little reconsidering himself.

"I am Dean Freaking Winchester." The fae began to murmur, they knew that name. "And my family is waiting just outside."

Now that she thought about it, she could feel Adam outside. He was upset and trying to get but the door had been sealed by magic. At her word, the Wolf relayed that Cas would blow the wall off the building if Dean needed him to. She sent back a mental reassurance that things hadn't gone that far yet.

"Winchester," Beauclaire seemed to hesitate. "It is said that you and yours prevented agents of the White God from completing the Apocalypse."

"Shock and awe," Mercy whispered barely loud enough for Dean to hear her words. "Don't lie. Tell them all the scariest things you have done. Make them know a fight isn't worth it."

Dean glanced at her, then straightened to his full height and lifted his chin. "That's me. Me and my brothers have caged archangels. We killed the King of Hell and all of hell's Knights. We tricked Eve, Mother of All Monsters into poisoning herself. We assassinated the leader of the Leviathan when he tried to invade. We stopped God's sister, the Darkness from obliterating all of Creation." After a dramatic pause, he stepped forward into the battle space. "Who are you?"

No one in the room moved for a full minute. Some of them seemed to have stopped breathing. If Mercy's nose wasn't wrong, at least one of them wet his or her pants in fear.

"I am called Alastair Beauclaire." Even after his opponent gave his True Name from his own lips, the Grey Lord would not do the same. He had too many other polite enemies in the room that would take full advantage of it.

"Alastair," Dean repeated. "My little brother killed the last Alastair dumb enough to lay a finger on me. He was a demon. Well, Alastair Beauclaire. Do you really want to declare war or me and my family over this?"

No, no he did not. But no Grey Lord could afford the loss of face of backing down from a human man. Even one as unique as Dean Winchester. "I will have reparations for UnderHill," he warned. "One way or another."

Dean nodded slowly. "Fair enough. How about a beer? Let's talk."


	12. Friday

**Friday**

"...so we, as Men of Letters, are going to negotiate the Common Wealth Accords. Pledge to assist the Grey Lords and be assisted, as one people in the common defense of this world. Yadda, yadda, yadda, blah, blah, blah." Dean cranked his socket wrench as he talked.

The Lincoln Continental was in the back, metal smoothed and second coat of paint curing. At Cas' insistence, they had tracked down enough 'Jubilee Gold' paint to match its original paint job. If anyone else noticed that the color matched the angel's favored trench-coat, nobody commented. In another day, it would be good to go. Zee had found it incredibly amusing to fix an angel's car. Actually, he found it incredibly amusing that an angel owned a car.

Now he sat, tinkering left-handed with a carburetor for a '74 Bel-Air listening to Dean and Mercy's recounting of the night at the bar. Left-handed, because he insisted on trying to hold Mercy's new angel blade. Zee couldn't quite wrap his head around the idea that any metal would bite him. At least, not until the burn put his right hand out of commission for the rest of the day. After that, he declared it a worthy weapon for his _Leibling_.

"I made Beaucfaire and Sammy handle the lawyer contract crap." Dean continued as he searched for another sized bit. "Basically, we promised to throw down with whatever scary thing pops up next to destroy the world. Which we would have been doing anyway. But now, the Grey Lords promise to throw down with us if we ask right." The Impala was coming along nicely. He'd finished all the major repairs and was now working on putting her all back together again. They'd be going home soon.

Zee snorted. "If. Important word, _Waschlappen_. If."

"Yeah, yeah. Sunny day in hell, setting us up to say 'screw you.' I get it." Dean waved Zee's concerns away. "It was a big face saving thing, anyway. We all knew it."

Before Mercy could agree, the tantalizing smell of philly steak sandwich wafted through the air. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation followed half a second later by Dean's. He must have a stronger sense of smell than she thought. Or a six sense when it came to lunch (which, knowing Dean, actually seemed more likely.) Turning, she saw Tony Montenegro enter her garage with two greasy brown bags in hand and a six pack of beer.

Dean laughed. "Papi. You have a job for me."

"Just want to pick your brains, if we could," Tony smiled.

Dean set down his tools and wiped the oil stains from his hands. "Whaddya got for me?"

Zee grumbled something about interruptions and wandered off to his project car.

Tony set a folder down and spread out several crime scene photos and their accompanied police reports. "In the last year, four different prisoners died of 'congestive heart failure' in our holding cells. Three men, one woman. Two white, one latino, one black. Crimes range from assault to prostitution. Ages range from nineteen to sixty."

"So, no pattern except they all die weird?" Dean accepted the files and began to read.

Tony shook his head. "Same arresting officer. Cabrerra. But I know h _e_ isn't the one killing them. It's been bugging him that his prisoners are dying while under his responsibility. Besides, why these four? Why not any of the other dozens of arrests he's made in the same time span?"

Dean flipped a page. "Did you check the times of death against the lunar cycle or time of day?"

"Lunar cycle?!" Mercy spluttered. "You can't honestly be thinking Wolves."

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "The world does not revolve around your Pack, Boss. There's plenty of other fuglies that go by lunar cycle."

Chagrined, Mercy subsided.

"Actually, I did," Tony answered. "Different times of day and night, different moons."

Dean lined up all the photos against each other. "They're all wearing cuffs. Do you boys usually leave cuffs on while in holding?"

Tony shook his head. "No. Only the people who were a handful during arrest."

Dean went back to reading for a few minutes. "Three violent offenders, one klepto who couldn't keep his hands out of Cabrerra's pockets. So... not because they were fighting..."

Tony sighed. "It could be coincidence. Its just..."

"Heart attacks are never just heart attacks," Dean assured him. "Last time I saw a slew of people dying of 'coronary events' it was a ghost. Any chance I could talk to Cabrerra?"

Tony nodded. "He's waiting in the car."

When the detective returned with his friend, Mercy stifled a gasp of surprise. A ghost floated behind the new officer's shoulder. The specter was also a police officer; it was still wearing his uniform. He must have died in the line of duty because she could see blood staining his entire right shoulder and arm. Glancing at the men, she knew no one else could see what she saw. For now, she decided not to say anything. Just because a ghost existed, didn't mean it was a killer.

Dean had gone to get some kind of gadget from the trunk of his car and flipped it on. It made some subdued clicking noises, like a metal detector. When Cabrerra walked in, Dean pointed the device at him. Immediately, the little machine began to whine.

Mercy watched in amazement. Dean's gadget whined when pointing directly at the dead officer.

Dean offered a hand to the newcomer; a young latino. He looked barely old enough for his job. "Cabrerra, right? I take it if you followed Tony all the way out here, you already believe something hinky is going on."

Cabrerra glanced at his co-worker, but nodded cautiously. "I don't know what, but something."

Dean offered a small smile. "Fair enough. I'm gonna ask you some questions, and they're gonna sound a little strange, but I want you to go with it. Okay?" Again Cabrerra nodded. "Okay. Where did you get your handcuffs?"

Whatever Cabrerra expected Dean to ask, that clearly wasn't it. "Uh... they were my father's. He died in the line of duty when I was young."

"How?" Dean asked not unkindly.

"Shot in the chest by an armed robber. Bled out on the street." Cabrerra told them, eyes daring anybody to pity him for loosing a loved one the way he did.

"That's a bad break." Dean commiserated. It wasn't pity. It was a shared feeling of understanding. "My foster father died on the job, too. A few years ago. Still hurts sometimes."

Cabrerra blinked in surprise. That wasn't the reaction he usually got, you could tell. Then, something subtle changed in his posture. Mercy couldn't put her finger on how she knew, but it was obvious that the young man had just extended a great deal of trust to the Hunter.

"His name was Bobby. After he died, he tried to stay on earth as a ghost. To take care of me and m'brother." Dean continued, gaze steadily locked on the officer. "And for a little while, he really did just that."

Tears welled in Cabrerra's eyes. "Sometimes, I think my father watches out for me. Sometimes, its like I can almost see him out of the corner of my eye."

"The problem is, spirits, souls, they aren't meant to stay here. Sooner or later, being where they're not supposed to be, it hurts 'em. Turns 'em angry, vengeful. Most of 'em, they lash out. At first, they'll only hurt the people who wronged them in life. After that, it'll be anyone kinda like the people who did 'em wrong." His voice stayed gentle, almost apologetic; he wasn't trying to hurt the young man. But he left no room for argument.

Even so, Cabrerra shook his head in mute denial.

Mercy watched the ghost; saw tears begin to gather in his eyes as Dean's words penetrated.

Dean kept talking. "My...Bobby said it was like an itch he couldn't scratch only a thousand times worse. Asked me to break his connection to earth so he wouldn't hurt anybody else."

Cabrerra drew a deep breath, and with a thick voice said, "You think my father... You think my father is a ghost. You think he killed those prisoners."

"I don't think your dad wanted to," Dean sighed. "It's just what happens when a soul lingers after a violent death. The strain turns good men into things they never meant to become. You don't want that for your father's legacy."

The two men stared at each other, lost in their own little world, oblivious of Mercy, Tony, and Zee.

"Do you know how...?" Cabrerra finally broke the stand off. "What's his connection?"

"I'm making some guesses here," Dean admitted. "But I'm usually pretty good at this kinda thing. I think, when your dad died, he bled out on his handcuffs. And I'm betting, when they cleaned 'em up before they gave them back to you, they just wiped off the outside. I'd put money on there being a little bit of your dad's blood inside the keyhole on those cuffs."

A little light bulb dawned in Tony's eyes. "So whenever he left the cuffs on unruly prisoners for too long..."

Dean nodded. "The poor guy lashed out at the criminal closest to him. Pissed that he was killed by a crook. And angry as hell that a violent crook was anywhere near his kid."

"Tell him..." the ghost whispered to Mercy, eyes full of new understanding. "Tell _mijo_ to have this man send me on. I don't belong here anymore. I don't want...this."

Mercy looked the ghost in the eye. "Anything you want to say to him? Before you go?"

All the men looked to Mercy, the same unspoken question in their eyes.

"My kind can see ghosts," she explained.

"Tell him, I'm proud of him." Ghost Cabrerra answered. "Tell him... tell him not to come see me too soon." Dutifully, Mercy relayed the message.

In the end, Zee used his magic to make a fire hot enough to melt the handcuffs after Dean had poured salt over them. Mercy wasn't the only one to see the ghost that day. The elder Cabrerra flickered into view just long enough to smile at his boy before he collapsed into ash.

"... _ruega por nosostros, pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte._ " Tony kept his prayer, a Hail Mary in spanish, respectfully quiet. "How often do you put ghosts to rest, Papi? How many... how many people stay lost like this?"

"Too often," Dean admitted. "A person dies and gets scared and doesn't want to move on. Hunters can't find them until its gone too far and bodies drop. Usually by then the ghosts are powerful and pissed and they toss us around like frizzbees. This is possibly one of the most gentle ghost cases I've ever been part of."


	13. Friday Night

**Friday Night**

Her cellphone rang.

Mercy groaned and rolled over to bury her head into the pillow. Beside her, Adam grumbled and did the same thing. Such counter-measures were temporary at best, because the phone kept right on ringing. She was very, very tempted to let it go to voicemail. A glance at the alarm clock revealed that it wasn't even midnight yet. They had just gotten to sleep.

With an oath (she didn't care if Adam disapproved or not), Mercy snatched the phone. Without looking at the number, she snarled, "I have several guns. I was asleep. This had better be important."

Beside her, her husband cracked an eye open.

Dean's voice laughed at her. "Define important."

She paused. Dean Winchester wanted the definition of important. "Are people about to die?"

"Nope, the dying is over." Dean answered lightly, but there was a hint of something in his voice.

"Are you hurt?" Mercy demanded, sitting up.

A quick hiss of pain answered her. "I've had worse. I'll be fine." Dean's voice was strong, despite the underlying notes of discomfort. "So, did you know there was a vampire nest in town?"

Now Adam sat up to focus on the conversation. With his ears, he could hear both sides.

"Yes, I did." Knowing the Winchesters and their reputations, she had to ask. "Is there still a vampire nest in town?"

"Not so much. But there are some complications. Could I talk you into lending a hand?"

Adam drove with Mercy in shotgun. In took almost half an hour to get to the huge, hacienda-style adobe house. Samuel Cornick was already parked and he was still waiting outside the big wrought-iron gates. Mercy had called the doctor in case Dean wasn't as okay as he let on.

Dean hadn't said how they had found out about the seethe or how they found the house. Only that they were in the 'big-ass basement' and things hadn't gone exactly smooth.

Mercy and her two Wolves followed their noses through the sprawling estate. Everywhere they went, every room they walked through, blood splattered the walls. None of the blood they came across smelled human. Several vampires Mercy recognized lay dead again, their bodies in one place and their heads rolled away in another.

A machete with a well-worn handle and an extremely sharp edge had been slammed through the marble tiles, like Excalibur in the stone. More blood dried on the blade. Clearly, a brother had lost their weapon (no human muscled that machete through the floor). Not that the loss slowed them down. One to throw, one to have. She'd bet that Winchesters applied the same rule to bigger blades.

More rooms later, they discovered some kind of symbol, drawn in blood. But somehow the blood seemed to have burned the oak paneling. Little sparks of charring still glowed. None of the three knew what the drawing did, or if they should try to damage it. In the end, they kept walking.

Finally, they emerged into the main room Mercy remembered from her testimony on the chair. This time, all the vampires present weren't standing creepily in the corners as silent witnesses to a trial. This time, the dozen or more vampires lay dead all around the room. Dean sat in the Chair of Truth, jacket peeled back exposing a nasty looking bite. The skin was torn and swollen like someone had physically pulled a biting vampire off of his neck. Sam stood next to him, dabbing at the wound with an old bandanna.

Dean looked up and smiled. "Hey, Boss-Lady. You made good time."

Samuel made his way around the bodies to Dean and opened his doctors bag. "Please put that germ rag away and let me clean that out. It looks like it needs a few stitches."

Sam glanced at his brother, who nodded his okay.

Adam picked his way across the room to a distinctly feminine body. Wordlessly, he lifted Marsilia's head by the hair to show Mercy. In response, Mercy nudged another head around with the toe of her shoe. Wulf.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God!" Mercy finally found her voice. "You killed them. You killed them all!"

Dean chuckled. "Seriously? Don't tell me you're surprised. There were only like fifteen of them and three of us."

"Wait, where is Cas?" Mercy looked around, trying to spot why the angel wasn't the one tending the wounded man.

"The half-pint by your foot," Dean explained. "Once he realized he had an angel on his ass, he put up an angel banishing sigil. Cas called five minute ago. He's in Okinawa and promised to bring me back souvenirs if I would buy a plane ticket home."

"You can banish angels?" Samuel looked shocked at the idea.

"It looks like you have things well in hand," Adam noted. "Why are we here?"

Sam answered. "There's over a dozen rooms full of people. Completely human. Some of them looked like they've been down here a long time being fed on by the nest. Not all of them are completely sane. Usually, there's only one or two people still alive and we can just drop them off at the hospital on the way out of town. But this... Two people aren't enough to corral that many survivors who are too scared and too crazy to understand whats going on."

Dean picked up the explanation from there. "There's also the little matter of the Half-Pint. I don't know how old he actually was, but I'm thinking he was some kind of witch before he turned."

Sam nodded. "He threw some pretty black spell work at us before I shot him with the witch-killer bullets. Then we still had to chop off his head. That was after we tripped some booby-traps. We are a little worried that if we call the cops to come take charge of the scene, they'll get caught up in whatever we didn't trip."

"Once we get civilians clear, I was planning on torching the whole place. Burn it down and salt the earth." Dean gestured around the room. "That's the best funeral I know."

"And fire will break whatever magic is left in the building," Sam added.

In the end, Adam called in most of the Pack. Wolves escorted the survivors of the vampires' menageries out of the buildings and into the outdoor gardens. Samuel reverted to doctor mode and began to triage whatever medical care was needed. From there, people were arranged into groups to be driven to different hospitals. Each vehicle rehearsed a different cover story.

Mary Jo, the firefighter, was in a mixture of horror and fascination as the Winchesters calculated just how much accelerant and explosives would be needed to bring the structure down and burn in to ash with letting it get out of control. Somehow, Mercy was glad that this was the largest thing the brothers ever tried to burn down. Once the blaze was far enough along that it couldn't be put out, only contained, the fire department was called.

The brothers and Mercy stood slightly away from the chaos and watched the fire burn.

"So this is what you do," she commented softly. "Come to town, fight the good fight. Destroy evil in whatever for you find it and move on. Every town, every time. Tomorrow, you'll pack it in. Dean will drive the Impala, Sam will drive the Lincoln. You'll pick up Cas at the airport. By next week, you'll find another case and you'll rid a new town of its supernatural problems."

"And save people," Sam admonished. "That's a very important part of what we do."

"A chick we used to know, she said that Hunters were a very small step above serial killers." Dean told her, eyes far away. "I was pissed when she said it. I love my job, but the killing is just a means to an end: saving people, helping people. That's what we do, every time. At least, we try."

Mercy turned to look as the last group was loaded into a Pack member's minivan, bound for the hospital and home. "That's what you do, every time," she repeated.


	14. Saturday

**Saturday**

Mercy Thompson had never organized a large get-together before. If she wanted to have a friend over to the house for dinner and a movie night, it was never more than a few people at a time. Her step-daughter, Jess, had insisted that it wasn't that hard (Jesse was part of the prom volunteers, so she that made her an authority on the matter.) But when the Winchesters showed up in town rid the Tri-Cities of vampires and set the Fae back a notch, it was time for a celebration.

Hopefully, Dean had gotten comfortable enough around the Pack last night to enjoy it.

She'd seen him, working with the Wolves to settle the survivors. He patiently told each human that they would be okay with the same expression he'd used on her in hell. With that look on his face, it was almost impossible to not trust him; to know he would take care of you. When the survivor calmed, firm in that belief, he'd gracefully seconded their care to whichever Wolf stood by. And each time, he'd set another look on the Wolf: a mix of demand and trust. Each time, the Wolf nodded, accepting the trust and the responsibility.

So, maybe she had high hopes a party would be welcome. Then she realized what she got herself into with its planning. Parties, apparently, had dozens of details she didn't realize: cooking in, grilling out, or caterer? At the house or in a park? When was the best time to get the largest number of people free from work or prior obligations? How do you coordinate that many people?

Mr. Former Military, Adam, saw her floundering and did what military commanders knew had to be done: he delegated. That's how Mercy ended up coordinating with Honey and Jesse. Making calls, sending invites, juggling schedules, and organizing a menu went smoother between the three of them. Honey knew a good caterer who would put together enough food on short notice. Mercy convinced Alma to haul the rest of her pie stash out of the freezer by promising to help her bake the next round. Jesse volunteered to hang the decorations in the backyard.

The two women sat at the table going over who had RSVP'ed and who had to decline to make sure there would be enough food and drinks to go around, while the teenager went for matching streamers.

Adam wandered in to join them. "Think there'll be enough for a few more Wolves?"

Honey shrugged. "Probably. With this being last-minute, we're over-ordering. We decided that having a deep freeze full of leftover beef brisket wouldn't go to waste around here."

"Adam?" Mercy asked. Her husband seemed contemplative and mildly amused.

"All those who call _you_ a force of chaos and change have clearly never met your friends," Adam mused softly. "Or maybe its because of your friends." Adam shook his head. "I just got off the phone with Bran. He heard about the Common Wealth Accords between the Winchesters and the Grey Lords and wants to ask the Winchesters if they would consider something similar with the Marrok. Bran asked if _you_ would mind if Charles and Anna crashed your party, to feel them out. I think Bran wants his negotiations with the Winchesters to be less... grandiose than Beauclaire's."

"Why Charles? Why not Bran himself?" Mercy liked Charles, sure, but no one ever accused him of being the most 'politically minded' Cornick. Or the 'lets discuss this' Cornick. He was more the 'behave or I will be forced to rip your throat out' Cornick.

"Hmm... I got the feeling it was more Anna than Charles that Bran was sending," Adam offered. "Then afterwards Charles will take our rogue Wolf off out hands. Also there were some... considerations with Bran personally visiting the territory of a Sundered Pack."

Mercy got it. "Coming himself would send the wrong message. Sending Charles makes it look like Bran is making sure the Colombia Basin Pack is still behaving."

Honey arched a delicate disbelieving eyebrow.

Mercy rolled her eyes. "Not everyone knows Adam well enough to know that he didn't toss Bran's rule book out the window after the Sundering. I wouldn't put it past a couple Alphas to try to cut themselves out of Bran's control so they can get away with whatever the heck they wanted."

Honey vented a lady-like snort. "The Marrok's rule book isn't just for the protection of humans. How long do you think those Alphas would last once the Winchesters caught wind of them? They tracked down and cleared out every last one of Marsillia's seethe and only got a scratch."

True, Mercy realized. Bran Cornick might be one of the most infuriating, manipulative, controlling, Alpha-dominate Wolves ever to exist, but he also cared deeply for what was his and went to great lengths to protect his own. Whether protecting humanity was primary or secondary in his calculations, he did exert himself to protect the innocent.

"And Anna, as an Omega, will help everything go over smoothly," Adam added. "If I had an Omega in the Pack, that's what I'd do."

Honey's brow wrinkled. "I know what an Omega is, what they do. But do you really think she'll have any effect on humans?"

"Bran seems to think she will." Adam held up his hands. "I asked the same thing, and Bran said she worked wonders getting the different Alphabet agents to play nice. "

A thought came over Mercy, causing her to catch her breath.

Naturally, Adam saw the hitch in her rhythm. "What?" he demanded.

"I was thinking... What if she could affect them because they _were_ Wolves? Can you imagine Dean or Sam Changed? I mean, they are scary enough already, but them getting stronger, faster?"

Adam leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. "With their training and knowledge? That...that is scary to consider. Not to mention that Dean is so naturally dominant, I'm not sure his Wolf would submit in my Pack. Sam's no pushover, either."

No pushover, no; but not the same kind of dominant as his brother. While helping survivors, he'd been every bit as caring and trust-worthy as his brother. (Really, how does a man that large have such puppy dog eyes?) But his interactions with the Pack had been that of a professional: Sam treated each Wolf as an equal, a partner who knew the job and did not need coddling or orders. A different kind of taking charge, true, but the Pack responded to his style as well.

It was actually a little eerie when she thought about it.

"Do you think the Winchesters will go for it?" Honey asked.

Mercy considered, remembering the bold declaration of all the monsters and gods Dean had thrown in Alastair's face. "They'll go for it, I think," Mercy answered slowly. "I'm just not sure what Bran thinks he can bring to the table."

Adam's smile went...well, Wolfish. "You can't see the advantage of hundreds of the Marrok's Wolves brought together and pointed at one common enemy? Really?"


	15. Saturday Evening

**Epilogue**

 **Saturday Evening**

Sam and Dean Winchester had done amazing things in their lifetimes, things no one and nothing else could claim to have done. They had walked where angels feared to tread, seen the dark side of the moon, traveled through time, and defied their Fate.

Neither of them had ever had a farewell party before. Or had so many they could call 'friend' to invite to one. Even Castiel made it back from Okinawa in time to join the celebration.

Ben Shaw of all people came over early, several computer cases in tow. Somehow, during the rescue of the vampires' menagerie, Sam Winchester found out that Ben was a database administrator and programmer for the Hanford Nuclear Site. As soon as Ben showed, he and Sam disappeared into Adam's library so he could help the Hunter update, defrag, and whatever else it is computer specialists do. Or to 'get their computer geek on' as Dean put it. It was the first person Mercy had seen the british Wolf take to quickly and easily. Maybe this would be a turning point for him.

While his brother had 'gone nerd', Dean killed time playing poker with Gary Laughing Dog. In theory, the other coyote should be able to scent when Dean was bluffing and should have won handily. In reality, it was a hard fought even match. Honey joined in when she arrived and changed the tone of the game. Mercy watched as Dean turned wing-man for her half-brother, helping him impress the beautiful woman, and tried not to laugh.

Poker was abandoned by one player when Alma arrived with pie.

Warren and Kyle arrived together and stopped dead in their tracks to Castiel giving the Joel in his lava dog form a vigorous belly rub. The volcanic heat didn't seem to bother or burn the angel. Later, Castiel would scold Dean for trying to roast hotdogs over the tibicena's back before placing two fingers on Joel's forehead. The man went from man, to Presa Canario, to tibicena and back at will for a good twenty minutes before staying as a man to celebrate his newly granted control with his wife. Lucia Arocha, a devout catholic woman, praised God for the miracle from His angel.

Which lead Oscar and Alma Ruiz to monopolize Castiel for the rest of the evening. The padre might never get another chance to discuss theology with a being who might give definite answers. He refused to waste the opportunity.

Dean tried hitting on Anna Cornick exactly once and three things happened: One, Anna coolly gestured to her wedding ring. Two, Dean asked if she was _happily_ married. Three, Charles growled from across the room. Dean favored them both with an easy-come, easy-go shrug and congratulated Charles on his 'awesome tastes.'

At some point, Charles managed to broach the subject of the Common Wealth Accords with the brothers. The younger Winchester welcomed the idea. They exchanged contact information promising to find time for future talks. Dean refused to allow too serious of a discussion at a party.

Mercy drifted over to Charles' side after Sam left to chat more with Clay Willis about a case.

"I like them," Charles rumbled softly. "I think we can work with them."

"The Winchesters? Me, too," Mercy agreed. Honesty made her add, "Sometimes they're a little scary, though."

Charles twitched his shoulders in a small shrug. "Sometimes, so are we."

"Earlier today, Adam and I were talking about what they would be like if they had been Wolves, where they would fit in. But watching them today, its like they already have a three man pack, an Alpha and two Betas. I wonder if the Change would actually change them, ya know?"

Charles grunted, considering her statement. "Alpha. Beta. Omega."

"Huh?" Mercy looked up at Charles.

"Sam would be an Omega," the big Wolf elaborated. "Weren't you watching? Lets his brother protect him from monsters, but protects his brother from everything else. Takes orders in a fight but sets policy for which fight. Omega."

"Then he's a very aggressive Omega," Mercy mused.

Charles huffed what might have been a laugh. "My Anna faced down my Da over policy and won. They are as aggressive as they need to be."

Mercy spluttered a bit and jerked her gaze to Anna. Young, slender and lovely Anna went toe to toe with Bran? Silenced reigned for a minute as she processed that thought. Charles was good company for allowing comfortable silence.

Charles gave her time be fore asking, "How's Shaw adjusting?"

"Ben? He's been doing better." Mercy eyes found the Brit next to Sam, both of them bent over a tablet again but this time angling the screen to Warren could see what they had been up to. Now that she thought about it, Ben had been a lot more relaxed and edging toward friendly since spending time in Sam's company. She wondered if that was a watered-down Omega effect. "I'm kinda proud of him, actually. He's come so far."

Charles looked out over the crowd: Wolves, hunters, shifters, preacher, fae, police, angel all gathered together in one place. "So have you."

Mercy looked over her backyard, satisfied.


End file.
